


When I'm not being honest I pretend that you were just some lover

by addormio



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining, but lbr we all know they were in love, can be read as one sided, can be read as platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addormio/pseuds/addormio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were some good times during the war. Hamilton doesn’t like to think about them all that much. It makes the day-to-day reality of having lost Laurens that much more painful. Still, he can’t help reflecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I'm not being honest I pretend that you were just some lover

There were some good times during the war. Hamilton doesn’t like to think about them all that much. It makes the day-to-day reality of having lost Laurens that much more painful. Still, he can’t help reflecting.

They would spend hours at a time in close quarters writing letters for Washington. Hamilton would get tunnel-vision when given an assignment, something he still argues is good for productivity and not at all detrimental to his well-being. Laurens would concede the first point, but he also made sure that Hamilton didn’t fall so deep into his work that he drowned. Whenever it looked like Hamilton was getting overwhelmed, Laurens would sneak a hand onto Hamilton’s thigh without looking at him. Hamilton would startle every time, but he’d smile and relax after a moment. He’d give Laurens’ hand a grateful squeeze before the two went back to work. It was subtle, but it was exactly what he needed. Laurens always knew exactly what he needed. 

Sometimes the tensions got too high in camp. Laurens, with his confidence and suicidal recklessness, would suggest a wrestling match. Hamilton cheered when Laurens won and heckled opponents if he lost. The whole camp would come out to watch when they wrestled each other. Hamilton even caught glimpses of General Washington in the crowd, stoic but laughter in his eyes. Laurens was bigger than Hamilton, both taller and stronger, but Hamilton was scrappy. He’d wiggle out of Laurens’ grasp and somehow manage to pin him down more often than not. The look of frustration that overtook Laurens’ face told Hamilton that Laurens did not let him win. That, and the fact that neither man could bear any sort of defeat. Losing on purpose was out of the question when one has so much to prove.

They would often write late into the night. Whether their subject was requesting more supplies or permission to form an all-black battalion depended on the tide of the war. Hamilton supported Laurens in this as, in all things, the two were of one mind. Hamilton wished he could forget the zing of electricity that sparked through him when he accidentally brushed Laurens’ hand reaching for a fresh quill, or the way the world seemed easily conquerable with Laurens by his side. 

After one too many drinks around the fire with their friends, Hamilton and Laurens would finally return to their shared tent. Laurens would shed his clothes, spread his arms, and, eyebrow raised playfully challenge Hamilton to come at him. Hamilton would ignore the energy buzzing behind Laurens’ eyes and wrap himself around Laurens in an approximation of a hug. Hamilton was an affectionate drunk, something that often got him in trouble, but Laurens would always melt into it. He’d wrap his strong arms around Hamilton and hold him close, sighing into the embrace and lowering his head to Hamilton’s shoulder. Hamilton always tried not to find this encouraging. 

Hamilton never slept better than when he slept in Laurens’ arms. He really tries not to think about this.

There were times when the pair would sneak away from camp at night and lay out under the stars. It was a testament to how much they enjoyed each other’s company that they didn’t fall asleep the instant their backs hit ground, considering how long and hard they worked. They would stay awake for hours, trading stories about the constellations, their childhoods, and everything in between. Hamilton connected with Laurens on a level that he’d never felt before. Emotional intimacy was such a foreign concept to Hamilton before Laurens, and Hamilton suspected that the same was true for Laurens. 

"According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves,” Hamilton whispered one night, head on Laurens’ chest with an arm curled tightly around him.

Laurens chuckled. “Quoting Plato to me, are you?” 

Hamilton smiled, quietly delighted that Laurens caught his reference. “Yes. What do you think of his theory?”

Laurens tilted Hamilton’s head up so that they could look each other in the eye. “It’s the only possible explanation, don’t you think?” 

Hamilton nodded and would live to regret that he did nothing more.


End file.
